


Dishonored ficlets

by intentandinvention



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 07:00:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13208430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intentandinvention/pseuds/intentandinvention
Summary: Various Dishonored ficlets & excerpts of AUs I'm not likely to continue, previously posted on my tumblr





	1. blood and wire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piero & the Heart in High Chaos

when piero joplin twists the final wires into the chambers of jessamine kaldwin’s heart, the first beat is convulsive with fury. piero’s sleeping mind staggers to the sink ahead of a thick trail of blood on the concrete floor, and he wakes in the predawn light to a hand swaddled in slick crimson bandages. there’s a newly empty space on his workbench that even the rats avoid, and his waking mind moves around it with the same awareness and purpose as water moves around a rock. only once does it forget, absently reaching over — at which piero falls from his chair in shock at the rage and loss that tears jagged through his head, words unintelligible but emotions searing like alcohol on an open wound.

he learns to stay away, half-wary and only half-aware, and the slashed meat of his hand heals to a bone-white scar and aches in the advancing cold.

the night that the freed lord protector stumbles onto the jetty for the first time (snatched from the executioner’s noose to be fitted for another) piero wakes from nightmares that aren’t his, of a sharp blade and hard eyes and too much red, and lies still in the gold-lit dark and listens to the low grumble of the riverboat’s engine and does not dare to move. when the dawn creeps in, grey rain on the grey river, he comes to a vague awareness that something important has been removed. he can’t recall whether it is its presence or its absence that swells such dread in his throat.

but there is a workshop to be tended, and his waking mind swirls in the winter daylight like the waves against the jetty, muddied and endlessly fragmented. by the time the clouds clear, the loss is forgotten in its eddies.


	2. i carry your heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> High Chaos Corvo & e.e. cummings' poem i carry your heart

Here’s the thing: Corvo will listen to no one except the bloody remnants of Jessamine **i carry your heart** and her utter fury at what has been done to her and her lover and her _city_ , and the Loyalists realise they need to get rid of the former Lord Protector much earlier than they’d planned because frankly he terrifies them but he takes one look at the glass of whiskey (left hand on the crossbow trigger, right on the fusion of organic and mechanical in his pocket **anywhere i go you go my dear** _we can kill them later my darling but we need them to find our daughter first_ ) and just shakes his head, and the ice in the glass is chiming as Havelock’s hand trembles so he sets it down on the bar as Corvo leaves without a word; Samuel knows that Coldridge changes men but the walls of the Distillery District are splattered brown and the _rumours_ , they say that the man in the mask just dropped from the rafters in the middle of the Bottle Street Gang’s operation **i fear no fate (for you are my fate my sweet)** and there are no survivors, and later that night he finds Corvo just sitting on the dock with his empty hands cupped in front of him as if they hold all the precious wisdom of the Void **and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant** and he hasn’t taken that mask off in days; Martin manages to decode Campbell’s book within hours and realises that Emily’s at the Golden Cat, and he knows it’s imperative that they retrieve her but he keeps delaying the mission because he’s honestly not sure whether their assassin (their not-so-tame killer) will distinguish between friend and foe; and when he sees the young Empress on board the _Amaranth_ he exchanges uneasy glances with Havelock because that means _Corvo isn’t finished with them_ and the ribbon in Emily’s hair isn’t the only red on her clothing but she’s _smiling_ **here is the deepest secret nobody knows** ;The Outsider has seen obsession before but this is something new, Corvo’s entire self enthralled by the ferocity of his lover’s heart as all of the Empire’s more gentle futures gutter one by one like the candles in the windows of plague victims **and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart** and he has never seen one person deal so much death except that it’s not one, it’s two, but neither of them are whole enough to care that Dunwall is burning **i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart).**


	3. like father like daughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Low Chaos - a friend asked for Jessamine/Corvo hurt/comfort, and because I make no pretences at being a good person I did this (set in the Much Abides universe, where Corvo has no idea whether Emily is biologically his):

After the noise of the coronation ball the evening air is cold and clean, and Corvo leans his forehead against a marble pillar, willing his breathing to slow and the nobleman’s mocking comments to fade from his head. It doesn’t work; all he can hear is his racing heartbeat and the contemptuous twist of the man’s voice. What _is_ he doing here, a failed Lord Protector, a shadow that Emily no longer needs now that she has her own? His position in this court has always been beside Jessamine; Emily, safeguarded and surrounded by her new Regent, Lord Protector and Spymaster, has no place for him.

He glances sideways at the great ballroom, sees her standing on tiptoe as she whispers something to Piero, and wonders if perhaps now that she’s safe he should disappear, take a ship back to Serkonos and lose himself among the crowds. He is nothing in Dunwall’s court but a reminder of past failures; Emily will be better without him.

In his coat, Jessamine’s heart stirs. Her voice is a gentle murmur, as if she’s standing by his shoulder as he watches the young Empress.

_She is her father’s daughter in truth_ , he hears, _from the dark of her eyes to the blade she hid in her boot this morning. She has asked Piero to speak to the court tailor about hidden pockets and straps._

The words echo in his head, the nobleman’s insults and all thoughts of fleeing forgotten. _Her father’s daughter_. The smile creeps unbidden to his lips, and as he raises his head Emily turns, catching his eye and running to the doors. She barrels into his side, arms slipping easily around his waist, and peers up at him with wide brown eyes as she hugs him. ‘Corvo, you _have_ to come and dance with me!’

He can’t help but laugh as he twists and lifts her into his arms, and she curls into his shoulder, all long limbs and black hair. ‘I’m glad you’re here, Corvo,’ she says, and suddenly so is he.


	4. nothing and a broken heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> F!Corvo, low chaos - in which the Loyalists successfully made off with Emily, and Daud took Corvo in.

’ _Royal Protector Corvo Attano was a strong and brave woman, a loyal servant to her Empress and a peerless guardian for the Lady Emily. That woman is dead and lost to us, and in her place the Outsider has raised a puppet to the powers of the Void, her gaze twisted and bent towards vengeance on those who have done her no harm. He has wedded this puppet to his favoured, Daud, the self-styled Knife of Dunwall and murderer of our Empress, binding her heart and mind to the assassin’s body and will in a mockery of marriage. Should the creature that was Attano seek your aid, stay away - she has no will of her own any longer, and seeks only to serve the Knife of Dunwall in all he desires. The Abbey urges citizens to beware of this Void-wrought partnership and of those who serve the Outsider alongside them. Remember the Seven Strictures and you will be in no danger._ ’

Corvo and Daud have stilled in an abandoned room to listen to Teague’s announcement as his voice echoes over Dunwall, and when he’s finished, the silence falls awkwardly between them. Corvo’s fists clenched sometime in the first sentence; she feels her face flaming red, and is glad of the mask. Of course Martin wasn’t going to leave her alone, but she’d expected knives in the dark, guns in the daylight, not … wild accusations.

‘All I desire, was it?’ Daud says eventually. Cautiously, which is wise.

'Right now, only if all you desire is to be hauled up in front of Martin covered in your own blood,’ Corvo snarls.

 

Later, Corvo’s sitting on a rooftop watching the city when she hears Daud approach, his boots deliberately loud on the stone cladding. He crouches beside her and together they watch the Estate District burn, whale oil boosting the controlled fires high above the Wrenhaven. Sparks are flying in the cold air, but the night is still enough that they settle quickly. Corvo waits for Daud to speak, knowing what he’s going to say and wondering how he’ll try to rephrase it this time, but the silence lasts longer than she expects.

'Leave with us,' he says finally. 'You've done enough; Martin can handle the rest of it or die trying. There's nothing here for you anymore.'

'Emily's here,' she replies. Not that she’s seen Emily for going on a year.

'Emily thinks you’re dead, and in a few years Martin will have turned her against even the memory of you, and then you'll have nothing _and_ a broken heart. This isn't going to end the way you need it to, Corvo, not if you stay in Dunwall. You’re not Royal Protector anymore. Come home to Serkonos; don't die here for a city that doesn't want or need you.'

'Dunwall is my home.'

'Dunwall won't last out the year.'

There's silence then, because she can’t deny it. He sighs and sits beside her, puts his hand on her knee. The Mark there does odd things to the reflected firelight, shifting and twisting it. After a few moments she leans against him. He's warm, smells a little of fresh sweat and a little of cigarette ash, and he pulls a couple of canisters out of a pocket so that they’re not prodding into her side. This comfort between them came startlingly quickly after they decided to trust one another, discovered they had a lot to teach one another, and Corvo’s finding that she likes it. It has been a long time since she had anyone she might begin to describe as a friend – since Jessamine’s death, in fact. She realises that the Heart is beating slow and calm against her breasts, and wonders what that means. Usually it's fast and erratic around Daud, reflecting Jessamine's terror in her last moments.

She pulls it out, cups it in her hands, ignoring Daud's discomfort. _They are burning the whales_ , Jessamine murmurs, but the rhythm against Corvo’s hands remains unchanged.

'It's them or Dunwall, your Majesty,' Daud replies gruffly, and she looks up at him in surprise. He's never acknowledged that he can hear Jessamine’s voice before, although it's been quite obvious.

He just shrugs awkwardly, looks out at the flames across the river. The Heart doesn’t react, but then the Heart rarely reacts to anything but presence; Corvo knows it's Jessamine in there, but she rarely seems to realise what's happening, or have any concept of time.

 _She meant more to the Empress than safety; you must be more to her if you wish to tread this path with her_ , the Heart murmurs suddenly. Corvo stares at it in shock. _What_ path? Jessamine’s such a — and then she realises that she hasn’t felt such indignation since Jess was alive. Her eyes are hot, her chest tight, and she glances at Daud. He’s watching the Heart, eyes narrowed.

‘With respect, ma’am, I’ll be what I am, and if Corvo wants that to change I’m sure she’ll let me know,’ he says levelly. He won’t look at her though, and now Corvo wants to know exactly what he’s thinking. She knows where _her_ mind went; what about his?

The Heart doesn’t respond, and Daud makes a quiet grumbling sound before turning his attention back to the flames.


	5. long live emily kaldwin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Loyalists' plan to poison Corvo goes off without a hitch, Emily goes missing, and Martin's left to pick up the pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, warning for major character death.

The morning after Hiram Burrows is arrested, Martin’s woken in the near-dark by a woman’s hand on his arm. He blinks awake, hand sliding to the gun under the excuse-for-a-pillow until he sees her cap in the light coming through from the hall and relaxes. Cecelia. Martin doesn’t normally sleep at the Hound Pits, but after Corvo went to bed last night there was so much to plan, so many messages to send all over the city, and by the third morning bell the narrow servants’ bunk above the bar looked as inviting as a feather bed.

‘You’d better come upstairs, sir,’ Cecelia tells him, her voice pitched low to avoid waking Wallace (not that he’s likely to be able to hear anything through his snoring).

Martin’s never been one to let sleep linger; he swings his legs out of the bunk and pulls on last night’s clothes, then follows Cecelia up the narrow stairs and through the attic to Corvo’s small room.

He realises as soon as he sees the man sprawled half-into his bed, head falling uncomfortably onto the straw mattress.

‘Oh, shit,’ he says.

 

_Dunwall, 1845_

‘It’s been five years since Empress Jessamine died, High Overseer. The imperial throne cannot remain empty forever.’

The old Lord’s voice is dampened among the velvet seats of the council chamber, and the rain is hammering hard outside the tall windows, but Martin’s been expecting to hear something akin to these words for half a decade. They fall into place in his head like a harpoon into a whale’s back, his failure cutting sharp.

He nods tightly, thinking of the low throne with its compass points. All the Isles, and no Empress to lead them, only the mask of the Abbey and the hand of the Lady Regent to keep rebellion at bay. Even the power of a Morley man so close to that throne won’t still the eastern island for much longer, and Serkonos has been pushing impatiently for power ever since the old Duke died.

‘I am aware that the situation is irregular,’ he says, for lack of anything else. Let them play their hand; he didn’t get where he is now by folding first.

A younger Lord leans forward in his cushioned seat, pudgy fingers steepled. ‘Remind me, what exactly is the High Overseer _doing_ to find a new imperial line? Is the reality of politics too complex for a sheltered man of the faith? Or is the Abbey’s loyalty only to its coffers?’

Martin has killed more men than this overweight ox has had banquets, engineered more schemes than those soft fingers have counted coins. He lets a sliver of that contempt into his voice. ‘The Abbey rebuilt Dunwall with those coffers, Lord Winslow. The Abbey found the cure to the Rat Plague, restored Gristol’s economy and recovered the Empire of the Isles from the edge of ruin, and even now the Overseers work in soup kitchens and building crews that Parliament has repeatedly refused to fund. The Abbey, Lord Winslow, is arguably more loyal to the Empire than the Empire is to itself.’

And he will not, _cannot_ , answer the first question, because the answer is _nothing_ , and it will continue to be _nothing_ as long as the Empire continues to prosper and the alternative is some useless cousin of the Kaldwin line with no aptitude for leadership nor head for politics.

Lady Pendleton, who has in Martin’s view has more brains than her deceased male cousins combined, clears her throat and levels a stern glance at Winslow over her glasses. ‘Indeed, High Overseer,’ she says. ‘Parliament is truly thankful for the service of the Abbey, and _some_ of us still recall that we would not be here without the Abbey’s tireless dedication. But Martin, you must understand our position. We cannot be ruled by this interim government forever, and with the Kaldwin line defunct, tradition has it that the Abbey must choose the next ruling dynasty. We have waited long enough. If you cannot enact a solution, Parliament will.’

Martin closes his eyes. He’s known this was coming. ‘I understand. But please, give me more time.’

‘You have had five years, High Overseer, and yet the throne remains empty. We can give you another month.’


End file.
